


Information

by itsnotlove



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Attempted Murder, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Kidnapping, Psychological Trauma, This is hurting me more than it's hurting Izaya, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 19:50:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5678509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsnotlove/pseuds/itsnotlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Izaya should have been murdered with a smile on his face, but instead he wakes up to a cruel new reality. He wants to escape, but curiosity keeps him pinned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Information

Cold, vacant, unfeeling. These were the only words that came to mind when Izaya looked into the eyes of his assailants.

 

“Recommendation. Bring Orihara, The Flea, to Shizuo-senpai for disposal.”

 

If they’d attacked him during waking hours then perhaps the outcome would have been different, but after several days of work, Izaya had needed the rest. He’d had an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach when he laid his head down but ignored it. People were always trying to kill him, but not one had managed to enter his apartment. It was a venerable fortress, something he’d come to love and boast about.

 

“No, I want to finish him myself.”

 

“I request further explanation.”

 

“Do I have to explain?”

 

“…negative.”

 

The smile hadn’t left Izaya’s face even as his ankles were broken. If anything, he smiled wider at the pain, knowing exactly how frustrating it was for his attackers. Shizuo might have known that Izaya’s smiled almost always indicated fear and uncertainty, but the concept was lost on those who couldn’t see through him.

 

“I recommend a silencer.”

 

“…No. I want to use my fists.”

 

“Bu-”

 

“Wait outside.”

 

He could feel the footsteps more than he could hear them, but that could be due to the swelling of his ear. Surprisingly, Izaya hadn’t lost a single tooth, a fact of which he was proud. He’d always tried to take care of himself, seeing his body as more of a vessel than something disposable.

 

The blade of a foot jostled him from his thoughts as he was rolled over, his smile larger than it had ever been before.

 

“Still breathing?”

 

“…”

 

“Good. Scream for me.”

 

A fist came down hard and fast and struck the floor beside Izaya’s head. He laughed, unable to react in any other meaningful way, but was soon silenced by a large hand around his mouth.

 

“Play dead, dog.”

 

He didn’t close his eyes because he was told to, but because he’d become faint from blood loss. His last memory was one of pain as he was unceremoniously grabbed and thrown from his bedroom window.

 

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

 

Cold water woke him, forcing him to instinctively try to sit. His muscles strained with the effort, begging him to reconsider his choice before his attempt was cut short by something metallic on his wrists. Izaya felt backward, his back landing with a dull _thud_ on what felt like wood and itches, and he couldn’t help the small groan escaping from his throat.

 

He was dizzy, vulnerable, and on a level of irritated that he’d never experienced when Shizuo wasn’t directly involved. He tried to open his eyes, but they’d swollen shut at some point. Maybe Namie had finally managed to poison him? It would certainly explain the aches, pains, and nausea.

 

“Stay down.”

 

Ah, that was right, he’d been murdered.

 

Izaya opened his mouth to say something, only to realise that he’d been gagged. The rag brushed against his tongue roughly, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

 

“Hit the floor with your hand once for yes and twice for no.”

 

Izaya hit the floor three times, only to earn a punch to his abdomen. It was useful really, as  his inability to curl his knees to his chest in response to it helped him discover that his ankles had been chained as well.

 

“Are you dying?”

 

One hesitant, self-loathing thump, followed by a laugh that wasn’t his.

 

“Are you thirsty?”

 

No thump, a kick, one thump.

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

Two quick thumps.

 

“Can you think?”

 

One thump, hesitant and unsure.

 

Something hard slid across a surface moments before something plastic and hollow was thrust roughly between his lips. Izaya fought the wince and sucked slowly, the cool water quenching a thirst he hadn’t realised he had.

 

“Not so much, you’ll vomit.” Slon said as he pulled it away from him, placing it back on the floor beside him. “Do you know why you aren’t dead?”

 

Silence.

 

“I’ll take that as a no, because I don’t want to think about what annoying things you might actually say.”

 

The Russian moved slightly, sitting on the floor in a slightly more comfortable position.

 

“You’re going to help me with something.”

_‘Ask the Crow.’_

 

“I don’t want anyone to know about it, which is why you’re here. You’re going to work for me, and I’m going to let you live. I might even let you go after.”

_‘A lie, and not a very good one.’_

 

“You can say no, but I’ll break your wrists.”

_‘No you won’t, you know I need them to work.’_

 

“I’ll leave you in the woods, bloodied and beaten, and watch you try to escape the animals.”

_‘Ah, but wouldn’t you like to kill me yourself?’_

 

“And then I’ll bring you back, wait until your wrists heal, and _force_ you to work.”

_‘So scary!’_

 

“So, what’s it going to be?”

 

One thump.

 

Not out of fear, but out of curiosity. Izaya reasoned that he could escape when an opportunity arose, but he was interested to see what Slon needed so badly. Slon shifted again, muttering something in Russian under his breath. It took Izaya a moment to translate, still dizzy from the initial blows to his head.

 

“You answered too quickly.”

 

For the second time, his last memories were of pain.

 

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

 

The next time Izaya woke up he was unrestrained. It was obvious that he’d been moved, either to another room or another building, and he was thankful for the western style mattress he was now laying atop. There was no blanket, not even a fitted sheet, and he took a moment to wonder why they’d been removed.

 

Had he bled on them a little too much? Or was Slon removing anything that could aid him in ending his life? It was most likely the latter, and he chuckled a little at the thought. The nausea he’d felt earlier had almost subsided, which is why he estimated that he’d been unconscious for at least two days.

 

This, combined with the grogginess he felt, left him no option but to assume that he’d been drugged after he’d been beaten. Which meant that they were no longer in Shinjuku.

 

Dull footsteps alerted him to the presence of _someone_ in the distance (another room?) and he laid perfectly still as they approached. Izaya tried to even his breaths to feign sleep, but the act was lost on his captor.

 

“Will you work for me?”

 

Izaya didn’t move and didn’t realise that his breathing had stopped. Slon kneeled beside him, looming over him as if he were some kind of monster.

 

“Will you work for me?”

 

Izaya’s hand moved sluggishly, only his fingers tapping the surface in agreement. Slon stood, apparently happy with his answer, and left the room without another word.

It would be another three days before Slon said anything to him, and Izaya would hate every second of the wait.


End file.
